Tea And Pixies
by A Sane Lunatic
Summary: In which Arthur hasn't reached 'that' level of drunkenness yet and is having a teaparty. Failed fluff, USUK, written because of Tumblr.


**Tea and Pixies**

Hetalia is © to Hima-papa

**By A Sane Lunatic**

_Ironic-tan's Blah: This is just a thing from a post on Tumblr that I saw, and one of the comments were 'why hasn't this been made into a fic or a pic yet?' and I can't draw well, __**so.**__  
So  
I just  
And by the way there are references to Sherlock and Tinkerbell  
Just saying_

-readon-

It was one of those rare times where Arthur was drunk but not whining to some poor person about his troubles. Instead of any whine fest, he was having a tea party with some… friends, said he.

He was sat outside in his garden, teacups and other nice little things strewn about him while he laughed and replied to the little gusts of wind he called pixies or fairies. That in itself was strange, but the stranger thing was that _Alfred _was sitting beside him, nodding politely and taking swigs out of his own cup.

Not a teacup, but it had sweet tea in it, and Arthur didn't mind. Much.

"Well, where do you think Bluebell is?" Arthur asked, eyes fixed on a shimmering point somewhere in the air.

Alfred just kept silent, smiling slightly and watching him. Arthur put a finger over his lips. "You don't say! Perhaps she… she… dangflabbit. She fell into one of those holes. Manholes, were they called – now, don't you dare interrupt me! I'm the bloody United Kingdom!"

The American couldn't help but chuckle at this. The other blond turned to face him, green eyes narrowed. "Didja… didja say something, lad?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not 'til now. Calm down, Iggy, I don't think… 'Bluebell' could have fallen into a manhole. There are covers."

Arthur threw up his hands and huffed. "What if someone took off the cover!? Poor Bluebell… I'd call her a nice old chap if she were a man, but… she's just a bunny. I do wonder what Sherlock found out about her. Been a while since we last heard from him."

Alfred pursed his lips. "Um, Iggy… He… He, um, he's dead. He's pretty much dead. Sherlock jumped, remember—woah, Iggy, dude, calm down!" The bespectacled blond ducked just in time, for Arthur had drawn back his fist and threw a punch.

His aim was surprisingly good for a man who'd just finished three bottles of wine and two of beer and was starting on a bottle of Finnish vodka. Alfred snapped that right out of his hands before he could take another sip. The next phase of this guy's drunkenness was the infamous crying and whining stage.

Nobody wanted that.

"We do _not _talk about that." The Briton growled, eyes narrowed. His enraged expression disappeared, though, when the little horse thing with a horn trotted up to him and dropped a piece of paper in his lap.

"Oh, it's a note from Alyxs!" He picked up the paper and began reading it out loud, much to Alfred's amusement. Turned out the note was in Latin, because Arthur's fairy friend couldn't speak English.

As soon as the Brit had finished reading, Alfred plucked the note out of his hand and skimmed over it. "So, what's this about?" He asked, but didn't get an answer.

Arthur was currently busy petting the unicorn – ah, unicorn, that was what it is! – and talking baby talk to it. "Oh, you're such an adorable little kootchi-coo…" He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the unicorn's nose.

Alfred frowned slightly, almost wishing he could be kissed by Arthur as well. The American put down his now-empty cup and leant a little closer to the Briton, who was at the moment holding something in his cupped hands and conversing with it in a strange, squeaky language.

"Hey, hey, Iggy…" He whispered into the Brit's ear, making Arthur shriek and throw his hands up once more. "Alfred! I swear to God! If you do that one more time, I'll… I'll… I'll tie you down and whip you! Promise! This was the first time I got to talk to Tinkerbell in five years. You arse."

Arthur huffed and looked around him once more, trying to find 'Tinkerbell'. Alfred had quite forgotten his object earlier and was sat there, pink and muttering to himself. He had to admit, the thought of Arthur tying him down and whipping him was…

Arousing, to say the least. So were his motions. The Briton was swiping his tongue around the opening of the vodka bottle at the moment. "When exactly did I give that back to you, Artie?"

Alfred sighed and pried the bottle out of his hands. There wasn't much protest, because Arthur had regained conversational rights with his little winged friend.

Well…

Maybe he'd get a kiss later.

-fin-

_Ironic-tan's end blah:  
well  
I didn't know what else to write.  
yeah_

_Hope you enjoyed uvu_


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